


Conjugal Love

by zuzeca



Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alien Sex, Bisexual Character, Gentle Sex, Idiots in Love, M/M, Other, Past Relationship(s), Tentacle Sex, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 04:07:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16527029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuzeca/pseuds/zuzeca
Summary: Eddie’s only had the Symbiote back in his head for ten days when he discovers Venom dreams.





	Conjugal Love

**Author's Note:**

> To my regular readers, apologies, there's been a great deal of real life distraction going on, but I spent the past week at a work conference and after seeing this utter delight of a movie I have a lot of feelings about symbrock and microbiology. So you guys get this. Based entirely in the movieverse for now, though I'm passingly familiar with the comics and borrowed and remixed some bits about the Klyntar in order to take some fun alien biology for a test drive.
> 
> Enjoy and happy reading! The movie set my muse's skirts on fire, so expect more alien rom-com shenanigans in the future.

Eddie makes it home after two in the morning to discover the lightbulb in his living room fixture is burnt out.

He’d been interviewing a twitchy lead who’d only agreed to meet after midnight in a dive bar, conveniently located about a half mile from Eddie’s apartment—occasionally living in the sketchier side of town had its advantages—and the man had taken forever to get to the point. Eddie didn’t believe in mixing food with his interviews, so he’d stopped back at Mrs. Chen’s store on the way back for a half-dozen convenience store burritos and three quarts of chocolate ice cream. Mrs. Chen still tended to get a little tetchy around him, but after Venom had eaten the third dumbass who’d come swanning in to her store making noises about protection money, she seemed to accept the status quo.

She would even talk to him now when giving back his change.

“You get dumped again?” she’d said, frowning at the little quarts of ice cream leaving condensation rings on the glass countertop.

**_Tell her her new protection detail must be paid in chocolate._ **

“Uh,” he’d said, fumbling the burritos as she’d handed him the bag. “No, nothing like that. We just—I just, got a hankering for chocolate, you know? Pounds of chocolate.”

“It’ll be pounds of something all right,” she’d said. “You know, my cousin also makes exercise videos. Very good for blood pressure.”

Eddie hadn’t been sure how to explain that his alien symbiote...something had cut off his burgeoning hypertension at the knees—fortunate, considering Venom’s penchant for leaping out of windows. He’d mumbled thanks but no thanks and scurried out the door.

Juggling the icy bag, he flips his light switch on his wall in vain before fumbling across the dark room. He gropes for the refrigerator, succeeds in stubbing his toe, and nearly falls over a stool before a dark tendril whips out and snatches it out of the way.

**_Watch it._ **

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. He yanks open the freezer and shoves the bag blindly inside, then pops the fridge open and uses its sickly light to navigate to the hall light switch. The light casts strange patterns of shadows across his dark apartment.

They sit at the counter in the half-light, eating their way through a quart of the ice cream and listening to the hum of the microwave as it cooks the first of the burritos, Venom on the back of his tongue and humming contentedly from the depths of his guts. The microwave beeps. They finish their ice cream and swap it for overhot shredded meat smothered in cheese.

Three burritos and two quarts in Eddie is wilting, his head buzzing with exhaustion. Venom makes longing noises towards the freezer, but doesn’t protest when Eddie lurches to the bedroom. He drops his jeans on the floor and collapses into the unmade pile of blankets. Thinks about how he should brush his teeth or change…

Sleep.

_ Darkness. _

_ He turns in the birth-broth, the warm, amniotic soup which will help sustain him until the day he can merge with a host, truly experience what it is to be whole. Heady and foolish with youth, he stretches out delicate pseudopodia, taste-feeling the rip currents left by kin and stranger alike as they spiral through the liquid. There is no seeing, but he knows of sight through the chemo-symphonic signals from those who have returned to the birth-pool from distant stars. He dreams he may find a host with structures receptive to the electromagnetic pulses of which he can only faintly detect the longest wavelengths. _

_ One seeking pseudopod touches a stranger and he recoils, provoking a cascade of chemical signals which mediate inter-individual contact. The stranger is older than he, the veteran of several hosts, the proteins bristling from his outer membrane riddled with the markers of alien planets, alien races, foreign nucleotides integrated into his genome with exacting care. The stranger tastes like power, like excitement. He longs to run his pseudopodia across the slick surface of the stranger, savor the complex flavor-scents of him. _

_ A pulse of amusement. The stranger has caught the scent trail of his longing and releases a signal of his own, complex, aromatic rings of carbons that solubilize in the broth and draw him hypnotically nearer. They slip and slide against each other, membrane to membrane, swapping chemo-messages like love notes, alternatively negotiating and teasing, drunk on excitement. _

_ It’s alien and unbearably intense. The stranger’s pilli are slender and sharp, opening him up, joining them as they writhe together in liquid pleasure. He accepts the stranger’s plasmids, eager to tattoo them into his own genome. To wear the marks of their joining with pride. The stranger eddies around him, slick and warm in the darkness. Hot breath on his neck, vibration of words in his ears. The stranger is thrusting into him, pushing him towards a plateau of ecstasy. He hikes one leg over the stranger’s hip, opening himself. He gasps and hears the stranger call back to him. _

**_Eddie…_ **

Eddie surges awake in a tangle of blankets. His heart is pounding like he’s run a marathon and he’s harder than he can recall in recent memory. He stares blindly. His chest heaves, body twitching.

Venom is awake, aware, a dark shadow lingering at the edges of his thoughts.

His hands clench in the blankets. “What the fuck was that?”

**_A spillover._ ** Venom sounds a touch embarrassed.  **_An unintended integration of two events._ **

“Was that...a memory?”

**_Yes. What was his name?_ **

“Huh?”

**_The man in the dream._ **

Eddie’s stomach flops. “Raymond. Met him in college. Dated for about eight months. Who, uh…”

**_Their name was Paralytic._ **

“You were, uh.” Eddie stares up into the city-polluted darkness of his bedroom and wishes he wasn’t having this conversation with a stubborn hard-on. “You were fucking?”

**_In a manner of speaking._ **

“Meaning what exactly?”

Venom ponders this for a moment.  **_An exchange of the self. To build resistance, increase plasticity. We receive our core structure from our parent, but it is up to us to modify it. Plasmid exchange is both traditional and pleasurable._ **

Eddie allows himself to fall back into the pillows with a breath. “Awfully clinical.”

**_Sometimes. Not always. Is it not the same for you?_ **

Eddie swallows, remembering empty nights and empty morning sheets. “Yeah...I mean, not everybody’s gonna light you up inside.” Light up his body like Raymond had. Light up his heart like Anne had. That electric combination of burning excitement and smouldering affection.

**_No_ ** **.** There’s a liquid tickle against his ribs and Venom’s gliding up his chest to poke a smaller version of his head out of the V-neck of Eddie’s shirt. The muscles of Eddie’s stomach twitch at his passing. He rests his narrow, serpentine chin beneath Eddie’s collarbone and stares at Eddie with pale, liquid eyes that catch the faint light of the street outside and splatter it into multiple colors.  **_No, not everybody._ **

Eddie’s breathing feels too quick and shallow. The dark is a cocoon, rounding out the edges of normalcy and practicality, the witching hour making all things possible and impossible things tangible. He can sense the there-not-there weight of Venom on his chest and he reaches. A single finger stroke, like he’d try to touch Mr. Belvedere when the cat was still as likely to bite his hand as accept having his ears petted. He’s touched Venom, he’s  _ always _ touching Venom, but not like this.

Venom is slick-soft beneath the pad of Eddie's finger and those eyes slit in response to the petting. There’s a surge of giddiness in the pit of his stomach, not entirely his own, and Eddie thinks of chemical kisses exchanged on distant worlds. On impulse, he cranes his neck painfully forward and presses a kiss to the bare arch of Venom’s head.

Venom wriggles higher, rubbing against the side of Eddie’s face, exposed fang and stubble rasping against each other.

“It  _ was _ your idea,” Eddie breathes into the darkness.

**_Of course it was, you hopeless loser._ **

Eddie turns in the tangle of sheets, in the tangle of Venom, liquid and rippling and  _ everywhere _ . He half-expects to be flipped over and taken, but as he rolls onto his stomach and slides his palm up the slick black pool beneath him, fingers rise from the surface to thread between his. He presses the forming palm against the sheets, the way he would with Anne sometimes. Venom reads the muddled intentions and another hand slides up his hip to press into the small of his back, the sensation like a brand, making his cock jump in his boxers.

Then it’s confusion and nakedness and thrusting against and into something that ripples and squeezes in a way that’s as distinctly inhuman as it is overwhelming. But it’s the feedback that sends him reeling. The constant wash of feeling between them, Venom interpreting new sensations even as Eddie does. The realization Eddie’s cock feels just as strange, absurdly blunt, unable to pierce and penetrate as Venom knows, but soft and pleasantly stimulating. Comfortable.

**_Feels good..._ **

The hand tightens across the small of his back, encouraging and he squeezes the fingers, mouths blindly for Venom’s face, materializing against his lips, tongue-to-tongue. Claws prick his skin, just the faintest bit, a hint of wavering control and Eddie girds himself against an orgasm that is suddenly beating at the gates.

**_Let go._ ** He doesn’t have the faintest notion how Venom can sound so breathless without breath.  **_You’ll bring me with you_ ** **.**

The thought undoes him. He comes in a dark ocean with the taste of Venom’s joy in the back of his throat. Drops into Venom’s collapsing form, sweat cooling on his body in the chill air of the apartment. Venom retreats into his body, buzzing with discordant happiness. He breathes, gathers enough composure to twitch a sheet over the both of them. They doze together, and for the moment, it’s enough.

And then, because his brain is incapable of staying on track for long, he wonders whether Carlton Drake had ever factored something like this as fallout from his glorified space program.

**_That man was an idiot._ **

“Drake? I don’t know if I’d use quite that adjective for a genius geneticist with a rocket ship but—”

**_He knew nothing of what it meant to take a host. It is not a donning of the flesh. Even a host unsuited, a host unwilling, a piece of each one is integrated, spun into the webs that make us. Some fit poorly, the joins lumped with methylation, some polymerize cleanly. But each is a mark upon us, all interaction exchange._ **

A bubble of dual memory surfaces. Maria, banging on the door of the cell in that terrible place, crying and screaming for him to help her. Maria, the sickening neurochemical taste of her terror, the helpless flavor of her impending death, and the name repeating in her fevered brain like a frantic, endless poem:  _ Eddie Eddie Eddie Eddie Eddie Eddie… _

**_We cannot know when we will die, Eddie. But a part of you has been written into us, into you in me in you. You are mine, Eddie Brock, but even if we are parted, your signature has been signed upon my flesh._ **

Overwhelmed, Eddie swallows against the lump in his throat and reaches out blind. Fingers twine with his, slick and soft in that way that’s becoming familiar. He closes his eyes and breathes, squeezes Venom’s hand tight.

He’s on the precipice of sleep, awash in the soothing chemical interplay that laps between them, when a thought occurs.

“So does that mean you’ve also got dog DNA in you now?”

His pillow materializes out of the darkness and smacks him in the face.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact, while asexual reproduction is part and parcel for microbes, they do engage in [a type of horizontal gene transfer known as conjugation](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bacterial_conjugation). Which got me to wondering just whether the symbiotes ever did something similar and well...hence the punny title ;3


End file.
